Feverish Spring Night - Chapter 12

Cheng Jingwei sat beside her bed. How could she possibly fall asleep?
Her drowsiness had completely vanished; she was now wide awake.

The man was truly there for the simple purpose of keeping her company. He sat quietly on the edge of the bed, his back to her, phone in hand, seemingly sending messages—perhaps taking advantage of the quiet to deal with work.

The faint glow in his screen illuminated his cheek, casting cool blue shadows. His shoulders slumped slightly, and he looked profoundly lonely.

“Second Uncle.”

He put his phone away and turned slightly toward her. “Can’t sleep?”

Jiang Zhi’er pursed her lips, speaking with a maturity beyond her years.
“Don’t be too sad. Life, old age, sickness, and death… Grandpa wouldn’t want you to mourn too much.”

Cheng Jingwei seemed momentarily taken aback before shaking his head. “It’s okay.”

Jiang Zhi’er couldn’t fully understand the complicated helplessness on his face.

He whispered, “Actually, it really is okay, Er’er. I’m not sad—just… disappointed.”

Maybe it was the dim light swallowing their defenses,
or the bowl of porridge that had stirred old memories,
or perhaps simply the innocence in the young girl’s eyes.

For the first time, Cheng Jingwei showed a side of himself he rarely revealed—
like a small, lost creature wandering into a world of unexpected tenderness.

Jiang Zhi’er looked at him and asked softly, “Why?”

“I’ve only seen my father a handful of times in recent years. Even when I was young, he rarely smiled. He was always strict, but he never really taught me anything.”
His tone was calm, almost detached. “As I grew up, I stopped calling him ‘Dad’ and just called him ‘Old Man.’ Eventually, that’s all he became to me.”

Jiang Zhi’er didn’t know how to respond.
She couldn’t grasp the full weight of his words—great families carried sorrows outsiders could never understand.

But seeing Cheng Jingwei like this, on New Year’s Eve, filled her with a quiet ache.

Cheng Jingwei—respected and feared by all, young and accomplished, calm and composed—should have been invincible.
Not like this: quiet, fragile, and heartbreakingly human.

The darkness dissolved not only his defenses, but also Jiang Zhi’er’s shyness.
She reached out from under the blanket and gently placed her hand over his.

The moment their skin met, she forgot to breathe. Her mind went blank, yet her fingers still moved upward, tracing his knuckles, inch by inch.

Cheng Jingwei lowered his gaze.
The girl’s hand was slender and soft, not fully grown and not very warm—yet it carried an inexplicable strength.
In the dark, she held him.

“I’ll always be with you.”

She deliberately left out “Second Uncle,” hiding behind the sincerity of her tone—pure, unwavering, drawn from the fervor of a young, untouched heart.

“Although I’m still young and not capable of much, as long as you need me, I’ll always stay by your side. Forever.”

Only children could say “forever” so easily.
Only children could bear their hearts so openly.

“I…”

Her words caught in her throat.

Because Cheng Jingwei held her hand, lowered his head, and pressed his face gently into her palm.
His warm breath brushed her skin; her fingertips brushed against something hot and dry. Her senses blurred—she couldn’t tell if it was his lips or her imagination.

Jiang Zhi’er froze, her fingertips trembling.

“Er’er,” his lips moved faintly.

Now she knew where her fingertips rested—on his lips.

Her heartbeat quickened violently, echoing in the silence. It was so loud she feared he might hear it.

Her voice came out hoarse. “…Ah.”

Fortunately, he lifted his head then, and Jiang Zhi’er exhaled in relief.
If it had gone on, she thought her heart might have burst.

“Thank you for being here,” he said softly.

He placed her hand back under the quilt, brushed her cheek gently with his knuckles, and murmured, “Be good. Go to sleep.”

Perhaps because it was so late, or because he stayed by her bedside, Jiang Zhi’er finally drifted into sleep—ending that absurd yet tender New Year’s Eve.

The heavy curtains blocked out every trace of light; the room remained as dark as night.

It was already ten in the morning when Jiang Zhi’er woke—
the first time in years she had slept so soundly in complete darkness.

Cheng Jingwei was long gone.

When she sat up, her fingers brushed against something. Looking down, she saw a thick red envelope.
She froze.
On it, written in elegant, powerful script, were the words:

“Happy New Year, Er’er.”

Jiang Zhi’er barely saw Cheng Jingwei throughout the holiday.
She only caught glimpses of him in financial news, sensing vaguely that he was going through turbulent times.

Though he had earned prestige even during his years in the U.S., he was still young—and greed thrived in chaos.

The entire Chengzhen Group was in turmoil.
Some clung to him, others hid motives behind friendly smiles, and some waited in the shadows.

Jiang Zhi’er could only take care of herself and try not to add to his burdens.

When her final grades came out, she did well—her physics scores were average, but she still ranked near the top overall.

That afternoon, after physics practice, she received a notice reminding students to pay their tuition.
She went to the bank to make the transfer, but before she even reached home, the finance office called—her tuition had already been paid, and her payment would be refunded.

Jiang Zhi’er froze.

It couldn’t have been her uncle.
There was only one person who would have done that.

She opened the door, phone in hand, about to type a message—when she heard a familiar voice from inside.

“You’re back.”

She looked up in surprise.

It was the man she hadn’t seen for nearly half a month.

He had just showered, dressed in simple white loungewear. His hair was still half-dry, soft strands falling across his forehead—completely unlike the composed man seen in the media.
As if all the political storms had nothing to do with him.

Jiang Zhi’er’s eyes brightened. “Second Uncle, you’re finally back!”

He smiled faintly and pulled out a chair. “Come and eat.”

They hadn’t shared a meal in so long.
She quickly dropped her bag and sat beside him, asking about the tuition.

Cheng Jingwei nodded. “How could I let a child pay her own tuition?”

Jiang Zhi’er pouted slightly—she didn’t want to be treated like a child.

“I just think it must be tough for you lately,” she said softly.

Cheng Jingwei stroked her hair, half-joking.
“No matter how difficult things get, they won’t ever be so bad that we can’t support you.”

After a pause, he added, “Don’t worry. Everything’s been handled—the situation’s stable now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t explain further, brushing off the dangers.

Jiang Zhi’er didn’t press. “Did you get what you wanted?”

Her clear eyes met his, the question cutting straight to the core.

Cheng Jingwei lowered his gaze, thoughtful.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I got it.”

“That’s good.”

He looked at her, then asked suddenly, “But what if getting it meant resorting to extremes—alienating people along the way? Would it still be worth it?”

Jiang Zhi’er was silent.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Forget it. It’s foolish of me to ask a sixteen-year-old something like that.”

“Second Uncle,” she said softly, “I don’t know what you mean by ‘extremes.’ I just know you took care of me because of your promise. You’ve always been fair to Cheng Jiayao and never mistreated him for personal gain. Even when you see an old woman selling flowers in winter, you buy them all so she doesn’t have to stand in the cold.”

The girl’s worldview was simple—
and yet the truest kind.

“So, in my eyes, Uncle, you’re not someone who would do anything just to get your way. Being clever and resourceful isn’t something to be ashamed of. You plan for what you want—and you deserve it. There’s no such thing as ‘worth it’ or not.”

She paused, then added carefully, word by word:
“Anyway, those who stand by you will never leave.”

Cheng Jingwei’s Adam’s apple moved. He didn’t speak for a long time.

He hadn’t expected such words from her.
The turbulent undercurrents of the past two weeks seemed to calm.

When this girl had first entered his life, he’d only offered her a stable home out of gratitude—like sponsoring a child.
To a man like him, money was the least valuable thing.

But somewhere along the way, she became more than Old Lady Jiang’s granddaughter.
He called her “Er’er,” let her into his world—
and she slowly came to mean something entirely different.

“Will you always stand by me?” he asked.

“Of course,” she replied without hesitation. “I’ll always be by your side.”

Cheng Jingwei smiled faintly. “Er’er, I’ve never been firmly chosen before.”

Jiang Zhi’er didn’t fully understand the turmoil of Chengzhen Group, nor did she try to.
But she was perceptive—she could feel it.

She looked into his eyes and said quietly, “But you’ll always be my first choice.”

Cheng Jingwei’s lashes trembled.
He found himself captivated by the amber light in her eyes.
He turned away quickly, startled by his own loss of control.

After a moment, he looked out the floor-to-ceiling window.
A sudden downpour had begun, drenching the city in a veil of rain.

“It’s raining,” he said softly.

She followed his gaze.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “It’s raining.”

This winter had been nothing but rain—endless, unrelenting.
The storms came without warning,
just like her heartbeat: sudden, unstoppable, and beyond control.

Spring was coming.